


Buckshee

by ayjee



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7702102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayjee/pseuds/ayjee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scribe Haylen stops by Listening Post Bravo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buckshee

“Have you told Rhys about this place?”

Haylen takes her time replying, because this has been on her mind a lot lately.

“No,” she says eventually. “I haven’t.”

Danse smirks. “Afraid he’s gonna shoot me on sight?”

Haylen turns to punch him in the arm, stops at the last moment. They may have grown closer in the last couple of months, Danse is still her commanding officer, in spirit if not in practice. It’s the regular uniform, she thinks. So familiar, and yet so alien-looking on him. Had he been in power armor, the thought wouldn’t even have crossed her mind.

She sighs and rolls the bottle of Gwinett ale between her palms. “I just don’t think now’s the right time. Make no mistake, he knows you’re not as dead as official reports would have us believe.”

Danse gives her a side look. “Did you tell him?”

“No,” Haylen says, taking a swig of ale. “But even he can count ammo.” Anyone else, Rhys would’ve assumed they were smuggling it for caps, but he hadn’t dared asking Haylen what she did with it. Merely commented on the weight of her package. Prick.

“Maybe later,” she continues, mostly for herself. ”When things settle down. Right now everyone is on edge with the final touch-ups on Liberty Prime.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“You have? Then you know it’s just as awesome as the records said. When that thing is up and running, well…” Haylen smiles and allows herself to dream for a moment. “This may not be the end of the Institute, but it’s gonna leave one hell of a dent.”

“Ad victoriam,” Danse says without thinking. They clink bottles.

The silence that follows stretches for just a little bit too long – she’s thinking about Rhys, and Danse is probably knee-deep in regrets by now. Looking around, she notices the empty cola bottles collected in a wooden crate, next to a pile of canned foods she knows Danse wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot pole. “How’s the vault dweller?”

“The usual,” he replies, and his brows unfurrow slowly. “Probably cleaning house at the Railroad’s headquarters as we speak.”

“So they gave the order, hu?” Haylen’s hand tightens on the neck of the bottle. She had hoped, foolishly, that it wouldn’t come to this. True, the Railroad has compromised their mission on more than one occasion. But if she remembers correctly, there’s, what, ten of them? Fifteen, tops. Not enough to bring real harm to the Brotherhood, and certainly no match for a heavily armed squad. “It’s gonna be a slaughter,” she blurts out.

Danse’s voice has that cold quality she dislikes so much, the same tone he used to order her to put down Worwick. “They were a hindrance.”

“More like a bunch of misguided idiots,” she objects. “Seems a shame to kill them all, when some probably had skills we could’ve used against the Institute.”

She’s taken some proper chewing-outs since she joined the Brotherhood, but none that got her heart pounding so fast as the look he gives her. It’s the first time she’s openly disagreed with him, of course it is – it was never a scribe’s place to question an officer’s decision. But things are different now. She straightens her back and holds his stare. After a while, he’s the one to look away.

“You’ve always been too soft, Haylen. I suggest keeping these thoughts to yourself. They wouldn’t make you popular with your brothers and sisters.”

She sighs. “Come on, Danse. I’m not a traitor, I’m just… not sure the Brotherhood is always right about everything.”

“Isn’t it the first step towards treachery?”

_You ungrateful ass._ “Yeah, well,” she mutters before she can stop herself, “you’re lucky there are traitors who love you.”

Now would be the perfect time for the ground to open up and swallow her, but of course she’s not that lucky. She stands to gather her things, careful to keep her face down until her cheeks don’t feel so hot anymore. A useless precaution: probably more embarrassed by her slip than she is, Danse busies himself with picking up the remnants of their meal.

The elevator ride to the surface is a long one. The synthetic voice commenting their progress sounds like it’s taking the piss.

One last check to see of she got everything in order and she turns to him, arms hanging at her side. Anyone else, she’d pull in for a hug; Danse doesn’t exactly give off that kind or vibe though. “Okay,” she says, settling for a warm smile. “I’ll try to stop by in a couple of weeks. You need anything in the mean time, you let me know.”

He nods. “Thank you. For everything,” he adds, and his brows do the thing – the downward tilt that makes him look like an overgrown puppy. Shit. She squashes the pang of protectiveness that threatens to wash over her. That’s one slippery slope, and she needs a clear head to help him without torpedoing herself in the process.

“Anything,” she repeats, and goes so far as to pat his arm – lightly. He doesn’t even flinch, the way he used to whenever they brushed fingers while counting ammo. Well. They’ve both come a long way since he overlooked her training.

She will wait before telling Rhys, she decides on her way back to Cambridge. Right now, they have a job to do… and she wants to see the look on his face when she tells him Danse and the vault dweller are banging after all.

Shouldn’t be too long now.


End file.
